


His Mother's Spitting Image (Or: Why Draco Malfoy Looks Like a Goat)

by lordhellebore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bestiality, Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-27
Updated: 2010-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordhellebore/pseuds/lordhellebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Draco’s looks begin changing mysteriously for the worse, he looks to his parents for answers. He gets them – but they’re not what he had imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Mother's Spitting Image (Or: Why Draco Malfoy Looks Like a Goat)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after the first pictures of the movie epilogue turend up on the internet, in which Draco looked like a decrepit goat.

“ADOPTED?”

The shriek from the dining room was audible even in the kitchen, where the house-elves preferred to crawl into the cupboards to be out of the way of possible harm.

“What do you mean, adopted?!”

Draco stared at the man and woman he had assumed to be his parents until now in shock. This was nothing like what he’d expected. A family curse, or a hereditary disease maybe, but certainly not this.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” Narcissa looked at him sadly. “We’d always hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but it seems as though the magic to conceal it will no longer work.”

“Conceal what?” Draco felt even more confused than before. Surely, she couldn’t mean that the ridiculousness that had become his face was his natural looks?

“Well…” she hesitated, turning to Lucius for help.

“You’re a Satyr, Draco,” Lucius said.

“WHAT?” In his excitement, Draco had jumped up from his chair.

“A Satyr. It’s a –“

“I KNOW what a Satyr is!” Draco grabbed his wineglass and gulped down its contents. Maybe that would help him to calm down. Or wake up. He must be in a dream – no other explanation was possible. It sounded logical on the outside: the scraggly beard that wouldn’t be tamed or even shaved off, growing again overnight no matter how often he’d tried it; the desire to dance with every pretty, nymph-like woman he encountered; the few incidents when he’d been unable to control himself and had grazed on the lush grass in a secluded spot of his gardens where nobody could see him… It sounded logical, but he refused to believe it. That way lay madness.

“We couldn’t have any children of our own, so we looked into Wizarding adoption,” Narcissa explained. “We hadn’t planned to take a non-human baby, but the second I saw you, I knew it had to be you. You were lying there in your crib, all smiles, with your little horns and beard, and you had the cutest little hooves –“

“Hooves,” Draco echoed. Narcissa had the grace to look embarrassed. 

“So.” He sat down again. “You’re meaning to tell me that I’m not your son, that I’m not even human, but a creature escaped from Greek myths. And my parents were…what? Frolicking about on Mount Olympus or something?”

Narcissa shook her head. “They’re both from England. And, well, they aren’t Satyrs.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. If I’m one…” He eyed the carafe filled to three quarters with red wine. He needed more – he was still not feeling any better, or waking up. “Then where are they? _Who_ are they? And why did you never tell me?”

“We thought it would be for the best,” Lucius said. “You know yourself that there are still many prejudices toward magical creatures, so we decided to disguise you as a human. Your mother died when you were just six. Her name was Gerlind. Your father…” Now it was his turn to do justice to the wine. “Dumbledore,” he finally murmured, his nose still precariously close to his wine. “Your father’s name is Dumbledore.”

“ALBUS DUMBLEDORE?!”

In the kitchen, the house-elves barricaded their cupboards from within.

“No,” Narcissa corrected. “Aberforth Dumbledore. Albus’s brother.”

“I see.” He didn’t, really, but maybe with a little more wine… Draco reached for the carafe, but found that Lucius had it. “So, then why am I a Satyr when they were not? Is it a curse?”

“If only,” Lucius mumbled into his glass. “If only.”

“It’s a bit hard to explain.” Narcissa was fidgeting nervously with the laced napkin. “It’s…a Satyr is only born when a human and… Well, your mother was…” She threw the napkin down with an exasperated sigh. “This is why we never wanted to tell you! How can you tell your child that his biological mother was a…a…”

“A goat,” Lucius helpfully supplied. “Your mother was a goat.” The carafe was almost empty, Draco fleetingly noticed as he stared at him in horror. “And a pretty goat, too. You look just like her.”

Draco decided that if ever there had been a perfect moment to faint, this was it.

“Well, that could have gone worse.” Lucius downed the last few sips of wine.

Incredulously, Narcissa shook her head. “How so? He _fainted_.”

“Think of it this way: he could have started bleating and gnawing away at the furniture.”

Narcissa looked down at her unconscious adopted son thoughtfully. Where his hairline had receded on his forehead, the tips of horns were beginning to show under his skin.

“You think I should ask the house-elves to prepare him some hay for dessert?”


End file.
